Home for the Holidays
by justdamagedgoods
Summary: A collection of 25 drabbles leading up to Christmas. Multi pairing, multi character, but mainly Neal/Sara with a little side dish of Peter/El for friends and shippers.
1. Fantasy

When she was fifteen, she thought she'd had her life all planned out. By 23, she'd be married to a gorgeous guy from her college who would share her love of art history and they'd open up a little art boutique and spend their lunch hours drinking expensive, yet pretentious sounding coffees and eating croissants. Christmas would be spent in Paris every year, sipping café au lait on the terrace of a beautiful apartment overlooking the Riviera.

She'd really thought she'd had her whole life planned out ahead of her. But then she'd decided, halfway through college, that that wasn't the life she wanted. She wasn't sure if she ever wanted to get married at that point. Her best friend was as liberal as liberal could be, and after a few increasingly liberated decisions such as streaking across the school campus after losing a bet or participating in the school's annual "Dyke March" in support of her best friend, she wasn't sure if the stereotypical white picket fence lifestyle was what she wanted. She spent her Christmases in college back home with her parents. Jane came along every year and her parents started to wonder.

After college, she and Jane lost touch. Jane wanted to explore Europe, but she was content with staying home. Staying home worked in her favor. She got a job as an assistant manager at a local gallery, and while it wasn't the fantasy she'd had in her teen years, she still got to work with the art she loved every single day of her life. She was on bad terms with her family for a while, due to differences in the life they wanted for her, and what she wanted for herself. In the first few years of working there, her Christmases were spent alone in her cheap apartment as she ate frozen dinners and watched _Miracle __on __34th __Street _on loop.

One year, it changed. It had to have been almost fourteen years ago at this point, when the bumbling agent walked into the gallery and changed her world. She thought he was cute, and sweet enough, but almost painfully shy. She could work with shy, she'd told herself. A sharpie, a piece of poster board, and a dinner at Donatello's later, Peter Burke was much more than just the awkwardly adorable agent whom she was fairly certain had put a surveillance team on her tail. If it had been anyone else, they would have been slapped with a restraining order. Peter got an invitation to Christmas with her parents and sister instead.

Fourteen years later, Elizabeth smiles as she sits down on the comfy carpeted floor of her living room, patting the spot beside her for Satchmo to join her. She hides the reindeer antlers behind her back until the dog is in front of her, carefully attaching them to his head so he can't shake them off. Satchmo whines at first, but when she offers him a treat, all is forgotten, and he's more than happy to pretend to be Dasher or Dancer or Blitzen. She giggles as he licks her face, and when she hears laughter from behind her, she can't help but smile. She turns a little, noticing Peter standing sleepily in the doorway of the living room, his hair tousled and his eyelids heavy.

"Merry Christmas, hon."


	2. Traditions

Ever since she was 13, she's had a rule of thumb she's never broken: no celebrating holidays. She doesn't see the point of buying obnoxiously colored wrapping paper and using it to disguise hideously patterned sweaters made by Nana, or exchanging thoughtful thanks around a turkey on some godforsaken Thursday every November. She'd much rather spend time by herself.

Honestly, she'd much rather be working.

She doesn't know what that says about her, but she's sure it says a lot. She's always been like this, at least for as long as she can remember, which is as long as Amanda has been out of her life. Just thinking about the older brunette causes her throat to tighten. Some boxes, much like Pandora's, just aren't meant to be opened, and for Sara, it's not only banker's boxes that she won't let Neal open.

He mentions holiday plans in passing over dinner one evening—chicken piccata he'd prepared and a bottle of Gewürztraminer she'd picked up after work—and she nearly chokes on a caper.

"Are you okay?" he asks, genuine concern etched on his features as he prepares to rise from his chair if necessary to move around to her side.

She nods, coughs, and fingers the neckline of her dress. She feels as if she's not getting enough air, and not just because of the food she nearly inhaled. "I'm fine. You were saying?"

"Christmas is coming up soon, so I figured I'd ask if you have any plans." He smiles, but it's a genuine one, not the charming grin she's used to seeing on a daily—if not hourly—basis. It catches her off guard, but after a sip of wine, she's regained her composure.

"I don't usually do anything special, honestly…." Her tone is stilted, shaky, and he can sense she's uncomfortable. It's his turn to nod and the subject is dropped. He'd been wanting to invite her to June's annual Christmas dinner—which consisted of a guest list of himself, Mozzie, Cindy, Peter, and El—but he remembers why she would probably hate that. Why she must hate this time of year.

He has a sudden image of two girls making snow angels in his mind, seven year old Sara nothing but a blur of red hair and purple mittens as she's tackled to the ground by a slightly older girl in a puffy blue coat. The laughter he hears in his mind makes him smile, but it also causes a pain in his heart he hadn't been expecting. Sara hasn't told him much about Amanda, but he knows enough. He knows Sara well enough.

Weeks pass without a single mention of the holiday season, despite the unbearable window displays at Saks and the reindeer shaped cookies Peter munches on in the coffee room at lunch time. While she appreciates Neal's consideration, she almost misses the constant nagging of someone trying to make the holidays worthwhile for her.

When she goes to sleep on Christmas Eve, it's in an empty apartment. Some might even say the Grinch had come to Ellisville and had stolen all her Christmas cheer and trimmings.

When she wakes on Christmas Day, nothing seems all that different. She wants coffee, preferably some of the Italian roast Neal had given her when she'd asked about the blend June used. Then she turns her head. There's a note on the bedside table, folded in half with a snowflake stamped on the outside. She opens it, blinks, and strains to read the two words written in cursive on the inside: _Living room._

Brows furrowed, she yawns, stretches with an almost catlike grace, and grabs her comfy terrycloth robe, pulling it on over her nightgown as she exits her bedroom. All thoughts of getting a cup of coffee are immediately sent out of her mind as she sees it. A six foot tall tree, fully trimmed and decked with ornaments. Presents are spread in a semicircle around the front most part of the tree.

She's shocked, to say the least, and she refuses to admit to herself that the odd pricking sensation she feels behind her eyelids is the beginning of tears. It's as she feels this that she notices him, sprawled out with one leg over the end of the couch, green light on his ankle flashing steadily. There are crumbs on his shirt, probably remnants from the plate of cookies sitting on the coffee table. He's sound asleep, and in that moment, she thinks he's almost the portrait of an angel in human form.

She laughs to herself at that, recalling a blizzard when she was younger when she and Amanda had spent the entire day making snow angels. She smiles, shakes her head, and crosses over to the couch, leaning down to press a soft kiss to Neal's lips. She feels him stir and he murmurs, piercing blue eyes snapping open in the almost immediate moment after.

"Hey—you're awake." She laughs at his fatigued ineloquence. "I mean…surprise," he murmurs, tone groggy but grin easily forming on his features.

"I'm not even going to begin to wonder how you got in here, because honestly, I don't want to know. But…why'd you do this, Neal? I mean, you have people to spend the holidays with who care about you—"

"That's just it." He sits up and smiles, reaching out to move some hair back out of her eyes for her. "So do you."

She softens at that, allowing herself to take a seat beside him and drawing her legs up under her. "…traditions have to start somewhere, right?" she murmurs, and the emotional smile on his features causes her heart to flutter in a way she knows that it shouldn't.

He runs a hand back through his hair, before smiling warmly and winding an arm around her. As he presses a kiss to her temple, he murmurs, "Merry Christmas, Repo."

"Merry Christmas, Neal," she half laughs. "That damned Raphael better be under the tree."


End file.
